Squeeze
by kneipho
Summary: In Progress. Voyager and Company. In a freak transporter accident, Chakotay and Harry are beamed into an unfamiliar region. Which way did they go, George? Which way did they go?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No characters belong to me. The thoughts, expressed, however are mine alone. No profit made, no harm intended.

Title: Squeeze

Part 1: The Transport

Author: kneipho

Beta: Flying Solo On This One, Folks

Rating: T (PG-13, for adult language and general grossness)

Fandom: VOY

Character/Pairing Codes: _Voy_ and Co

Notes: Story takes place after _"Mortal Coil_", but before _"Thirty Days_". Contains mild spoilers for _"The Leaning Curve"_ with special acknowledgment to _"Microcosm"_.

Written for Bridget, Vanessa, MrNiceGuy and Bek who are all very patient.

* * *

"Where are they, damn it?!"

The steel in Captain Janeway's voice cut neatly through the silence of the room, like a scythe slices through tender stalks of grain. She swooped down off the transporter pad to stand tiny, but menacing, in front of Voyager's Chief of Security.

Un-intimidated by the force of her demeanor, Commander Tuvok offered his captain a calm, steady reply. "Sensors indicate transport was successful".

Janeway's belly contracted painfully; twisting into itself and blistering. She was going to be sick. She threw the white helmet of her environmental suit to the floor and kicked it across the room instead. "I don't understand. Then, where are my men?"

"According to sensor interpretations, they are here."

"Here?"

"On the ship."

She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Are you saying their molecules are trapped inside the pattern buffers?"

"Negative Captain. Neither are they on the surface of the planet. All data indicates that the other two members your party are here, with us, in Transporter Room Two."

She shuffled a step or two in place, breathing in carefully; well manicured nails raking across her blanching forehead just before they disappeared into a damp line of auburn hair. She eyed the empty transporter platform.

An explosive belch forced its way past her lips.

Tuvok raised one charcoal eyebrow in reaction. She swatted her Comm badge, fighting off the demented urge to cackle. Her right palm felt sticky and tingled slightly as it impacted with the metal. "Commander Chakotay."

No answer.

"Mr. Kim— Ensign, this is the Captain. Report!"

Still nothing.

"Chakotay, please respond!"

Empty silence. She was suddenly afraid. "Engineering."

"I'm here." B'Elanna Torres' voice burst through the badge, offering up a ridiculous, yet, needed flash of reassurance.

"What the hell is going on? Where are my people?"

"I wish I could tell you, Ma'am, but I just don't know yet."

"That's not the answer I want to hear, Lieutenant."

"_Voyager_ experienced a minor power surge during the transport." Worry and frustration were evident in the engineer's tone. "We made the appropriate adjustments to compensate for the flux. There was some additional radioactive interference, but not enough to disrupt the procedure."

"Go on."

"No evidence from Astrometerics of temporal activity, no unexplained anomalous readings. It doesn't make any sense! The sensor and bio-signature scans keep feeding the computer the same conclusion: 'All members of the away mission were safely beamed into, and are now currently in Transporter Room 2. '"

"Son of a bitch!"

Commander Tuvok silently regarded his superior. She gave him a wry, non-apologetic grin and crouched forward. Sweat dribbled unchecked, down the sides of her face into her collar, and her skin shone with verdant tinge that reflected anything but suitable human health.

"I know you can see me, Tuvok —and I can see you," she said, rubbing her thumb along the soggy line of her upper lip. "When I look down, I see my boots. Nevertheless, when I look around this room, I do not see the away team. Do you see the away team?"

His response was unsurprising and devoid of emotion. "No. I do not."

"What are we missing?" Agitated blue eyes searched the inner depths of a collected, darker pair for the answer. "B'Elanna, could we be looking at a possible inter-dimensional spatial fold inside the ship? "

"I don't know Captain. So far, nothing has popped out onto our sensors. Seven is going over the existing diagnostics along my other data. We intend to perform a thorough manual check of all systems. I would like to come up there and personally and examine the transporter console and bio-neural related circuitry."

"Do it. We will get you started. Janeway out."

A strong Vulcan hand caught the captain by the arm. "I believe you should be in sickbay. Your pulse rate has increased signif—"

"I'm fine, old friend. Just worried." Janeway shrugged herself out of the commander's grasp, nibbling at her lower lip to keep from crying aloud as her stomach issued a silent scream.

Tuvok watched her stagger beside the edge of the transporter as she made her way toward the waiting panels in the wall opposite the door.

She was grumbling something under her breath about "kicking Chakotay's fat ass" when her legs gave way. Janeway yelped, her eyes rolling toward the back of her head as her body jack-knifed into an unconscious blob: plunking down on the deck in a dead faint.

* * *

Squeeze, Part 1: The Transport, Copyright (c) kneipho 2003—2012

Part 2: Hot Soup


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No characters belong to me. The thoughts, expressed, however are mine alone. No profit made, no harm intended.

Title: Squeeze

Part 2: Hot Soup

Author: kneipho

Beta: Flying Solo On This One, Folks

Rating: T (PG-13, for adult language and general grossness)

Fandom: VOY

Character/Pairing Codes: _Voy_ and Co

Notes: Story takes place after _"Mortal Coil"_, but before _"Thirty Days"_. Contains mild spoilers for _"The Leaning Curve" _with special acknowledgment to _"Microcosm"._

Written for Bridget, Vanessa, MrNiceGuy and Bek.

* * *

He panicked at first. When he could not find his footing in the darkness, Commander Chakotay went a little wild. He thrashed around aimlessly for a few seconds or so, his hardy appendages slowly turning about like the arms of a hoary windmill, before reason kicked in. He was not dead. He was alive —alive and slowly paddling about in some sort of quasi-gelatinous substance in the dark. Obviously, something had gone wrong during the transport. This certainly was not _Voyager's_ transporter room.

_Goo._ He was swimming in chunky, liquid goo._ How lovely._ Chakotay thought, as he mumbled a quick prayer of thanks to no one in particular for invention of environmental gear.

Out wind from his swirling exertions, he attempted to hail the captain —shouting into the comm link of his space-suit— as his ears adjusted to a continual clamoring gurgle that seemed originate from all around. He hailed her again when she did not reply, but received no answer. He repeated a similar exercise, in an effort to contact the ship, his entreaties louder this time. Again, the activity proved to be useless. Blowing air out his nostrils, he switched channels and called out for Harry.

A splinter of light crossed in front his face. He aimed his illuminating system toward the passing glow; relieved to find Ensign Kim dangling, ghost-like, less than 300 centimeters away.

"I'm here, Sir!"

Chakotay inclined his head toward the floating ensign, before redirecting the beam from his torch in an oval and counter-clockwise; starting above his head and ending below his feet. It was a slow process; the surrounding bemired atmosphere impeding the operation significantly. _We're housed in some sort of chamber._ he postulated, squinting as he peered about in the murky dim.

The area was sizable, but not enormous, roughly circular in shape and less than twenty square meters all the way around. He barely made out the impression of a borders, and was unable analyze the texture of the walls. Harry was also endeavoring to scan the area, possibly to discover a way out. Janeway was nowhere in sight. "Maybe she made it back to the ship."

"I'm sorry, Sir?"

Chakotay hadn't realized he had spoken aloud. "Looks like the captain made it back to the ship." The utterance rang with more conviction than he actually felt.

"I hope you're right." the ensign replied. "Commander, something's wrong with my tricorder."

"Mine, too."

"I can't get any decent readings."

"Keep trying anyway."

"Aye Sir. Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

"No —well, maybe. I can't say for sure, but I think we may have transported into that mineral quagmire we just finished investigating on the surface." Harry made a piss- poor attempt to conceal his revulsion. The commander continued, "From the looks of things, we may very well be inside one of the those enclosed pockets of sludge we detected just below the top layer of 'water' in the marsh."

"Great. That would explain... the decor."

"Just be grateful, we can't smell anything through our suits."

"If you're right about our location... all we have to do... is... rupture the top of the pocket's membrane, and then... make our way... to the surface."

Chakotay's eyes lifted from his tricorder. Harry was panting, his skin green. "Check your oxygen levels, Mr. Kim. " he ordered. "Now. "

"Oxygen levels... are within... normal levels..."

"Ensign?"

"Oh... boy."

"Ensign Kim, Are you all right?"

"Commander— "

"Speak up. Are you going to be ill?"

"I feel... dizzy."

"You look like you want to retch, son. I told you not to eat before we went out on this mission. Mom didn't pack you of change of clothes."

"And I thought we left...Tom Paris... safely behind."

"Watch it, now. You're crossing the line."

"C-Chakotay!" The words formed between chattering teeth.

"What is it?"

"I, I'm hot. I feel...really hot and my skin...is c-crawling."

"This climate must be affecting your suit's environmental settings. Can you adjust the controls?"

"I ...t-think so." Harry was shivering, his whole body quivering with visible tremors.

Chakotay paddled over and put his arm firmly around the ailing officer. "You'll be all right, Harry. We'll figure a way out of this."

There was a loud crack, like the sound of a rock hitting a paned glass window. Every muscle in Chakotay's body tightened into hard coils at the sound. The clear panel of Harry's headgear had mysteriously fissured from just above his left cheekbone all the way to the edge in a weird looking spider-web shaped pattern. The man was seriously hyperventilating; his cheeks had reddened into an extreme flush and marbled-over with streaks of white —giving them the look of raw, chuck steak. Chakotay swallowed a shudder, concentrating his attention on the fissures in the panel. They were extensive, but shallow. The helmet had not been compromised, but it only a matter time before the clear plate ruptured and collapsed.

It wasn't long after, he realized they were sinking, being drawn down in an intermittent swirl of current he had not noticed previously. He let go of Harry's shoulder, then re-grabbed him by one arm and pulled —kicking upward as hard as he could, movements hampered in the alien gumbo, as he battled to drag the poor ensign behind him.

His vision clouded. He smelled and acid and… puke. Chakotay's muscles began tremble. His face itched. His head was growing light, and his veins tickled in an abnormal sort of way.

Suddenly he couldn't move.

Below, Kim's body began to jerk. The commander couldn't hold him.

This was bad. They needed to get out of there.

* * *

Squeeze, Part 3: Variation on a Well-Known Theme, Copyright (c) kneipho 2004—2012

Part 3: Variation on a Well-Known Theme


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: No characters belong to me. The thoughts, however are mine alone. No profit made, no harm intended.

Title: Squeeze, Part 3: Variation on a Well-Known Theme

Author: kneipho

Beta: Flying Solo On This One, Folks

Rating: T (PG-13, for adult language and general grossness)

Fandom: VOY

Character/Pairing Codes: _Voy _and Co

Notes: Story takes place after _"Mortal Coil_", but before _"Thirty Days"_. Contains mild spoilers for _"The Leaning Curve"_ with special acknowledgment to _"Microcosm"_.

Written for Bridget, Vanessa, MrNiceGuy and Bek who are all very patient.

* * *

"Turn her over now, Mister Paris!" _Voyager's_ physician exacted in vocal sub-routines teeming with nasal exasperation.

The hint of alarm behind the order knocked Tom Paris out of his temporary stupor. He positioned the captain onto her side and moved away from her oily, wrenching form, noticing a thin trickle of blood as it leaked from a jagged laceration near her temple. The cut didn't look too sinister, but the damage could be internal. He hoped it wasn't severe, but the seizures gave him pause. Even in the twenty-fourth century, the human brain remained something of an enigma_. Get over it, Man._ he chided himself. _You've definitely seen worse_. "Computer, erect patient force field around patient and medical staff at 'Bio-bed One'."

"Force-field around patient and medical staff at 'Bio-bed One' has been erected." the computer recited.

The lights flickered over head, flashing, as if in premonition. In the tumult of a medical emergency, no one seemed to notice.

"Give me a standard Gulcose/Saline/B6 combination dose coupled with Phenytoin for injection." the Doctor called out, prying Janeway's eyelids apart for pupil inspection. "Ready a second hypospray with lorazepam to follow."

Tom reached for the metal injectors which lay, nearby, on a tray weighed down with medical instruments, programming two hypos, double-checking to be sure they would dispense the correct medications before holding the first one out to the waiting EMH. "Saline/B6 combination and Phenytoin " he confirmed, placing the second hypo back down on the tray. "Lorazepam to follow on your mark." The captain continued to flop about on the bio-bed, reminding him of a trout caught on a line. She cried out unexpectedly, and his whole body jolted. He let go of the hypo, watched it careen into the floor in slow motion —a derisory cliché.

"Lieutenant! If you cannot handle medical instruments properly, kindly leave my Sickbay."

Tom jumped, mumbling, "Sorry," as he reached again for the tray. Fresh hypo in hand, he programmed and checked it before placing it into the EMH's capable grip —unable to read the expression on the photonic's face as the Doctor pressed it into the captain's lime-and-cherry hued skin. After a few minutes she stopped shaking.

"Well that was fun." Tom cracked, without thinking.

"Which proved the most amusing for you? Dropping my equipment or watching a sick woman have convulsions?"

Paris gulped down several impudent retorts, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with restricted indignation. He glanced over at Commander Tuvok who stood just inside the doorway, composed and unflappable as always. Sometimes he found the man's steady attitude comforting —but right now combined with Doctor's irritation and the stress of the captain's circumstances, his presence was unnerving. Tom wished the man would go away.

"Commander," said the EMH." Please shed some light as to how the captain arrived in this condition."

"Captain Janeway returned from the supply mission somewhat indisposed." The vulcan replied, "She lost consciousness and sustained the injury to her head when she collapsed."

"That injury needs to be treated immediately. We will need Seven to come in for a nanoprobe extraction. If I can program them to make the needed repairs to the damaged neural tissue, we can avoid a difficult surgery. Mister Paris— " the EMH, then directed, in a tone somewhat more charitable than before, "Take several full body scans and a complete fluid sample work up. Let's see if we can figure out what made our captain so sick in the first place."

The nurse's console gurgled mysteriously as if to summon the attention of the room. It emitted a long bee-like buzz, and the Doctor disappeared. Sickbay pitched into full darkness. Tom's senses had just enough time adjust to weirdness of the change, when, with the same abruptness, the lights clicked back on again and the EMH came back on line.

Tuvok activated the badge on his breast. "Engineering. We are experiencing difficulties with the power in Sickbay. Can you provide an explanation?"

An angry, harassed B'Elanna responded. "Yes Commander, I can. A large group of unidentified microbes has somehow invaded the organic components of the ship. The gel packs have been directly affected.

"Neelix isn't making cheese, again, is he?" Tom chimed in, his tricorder gliding along the captain's inert form.

"No. Believe me, Paris, that was first thing I checked. But this is serious. Power disruptions are being reported on all decks. Our standard ship-wide decontamination procedure isn't working. If you guy's have got a stronger bug spray in your medicine chest, You're welcome to play exterminator."

Tuvok turned to the Doctor who was busy attaching a small metal object to his uniform. "Computer download the Emergency Holographic Program to the mobile emitter. Lieutenant Torres, send Seven of Nine to here to Sickbay immediately with sample of the microbe for the Doctor to examine."

"Tuvok, I need to send someone else."

"That is not possible at this time, Lieutenant. "

"Commander, my team is swamped. Somebody qualified has to help me maintain ship functions and figure out where these little _Pet aQ's (1) _are all coming from."

"I understand. Have Seven report to Sickbay."

"What about the transporter—? "

"I will assist you in her place. This matter cannot wait. Tuvok, out. Gentlemen," he said, swiveling on Starfleet heels. "As you see, I must return to my duties. Doctor, if you can find the time to update me on Captain Janeway's condition, periodically, I would greatly appreciate the effort. Mister Paris, as soon as you complete your obligations here, I would like you to report to the Bridge."

Tom's misgivings met the with the Doctor's undeclared objections over the sweaty lump on the bio-bed. "With all due respect," he started, "I think I'm needed more here. "I'm sure Chakotay— "

"There was a malfunction during the transport of the away team. Commander Chakotay and Ensign Kim have not been recovered."

Tom looked down at his tricorder's view screen. His eyesight blurred. _Good God._ When this crisis was over, he was going to resurrect the old Sandrine's program and get totally blitzed. He blinked a few times to sharpen the tricorder back into focus and found himself gaping at it in bewildered consternation.

"Ah, Tuvok." he squeaked, reviewing the results of his scan. " I don't think we're need that sample after all."

"Elaborate, Mr. Paris."

"If correct, these readings detect the presence of at least six thousand foreign microbes embedded within the fibers of the captain's environmental suit alone. Approximately seven or eight thousand more are currently breeding in her bloodstream." On a hunch, he held the tricorder up into the air. "Holy Cow, they're everywhere."

The EMH raced over to scrutinize the data. To his credit, Tom admired; the Doc didn't even bat a holographic eyelash.

"Computer." the Doctor directed, "Erect bio-hazard containment force-field around 'Sickbay' and begin irradiation of unidentified 'Microscopic Bio-hazard Delta Quadrant C': decontamination sequence 'EMH Sub-Zero Pasture, Gamma, Six'."

"Bio-hazard containment force-field around 'Sickbay' has been erected. Decontamination sequence 'EMH Sub-Zero Pasture, Gamma, Six', beginning now."

The air metamorphosed into something heavy and oppressive as Sickbay was instantly saturated with dense cooling mist that coated every particle, clung to every atom in the room. The fumigating fog flushed out hidden nooks and crannies: icing away the dangerous unseen threat. Tom found it very difficult to breathe; the pain cramping in his chest stamped into his expression, like printed words on the pages of an old-fashioned book. Tuvok folded his hands as if to prepare for meditation. His face remained unchanged. If the atmospheric alterations were effecting him, he did a remarkable job of hiding his discomfort.

The Doctor raised his head, then reassured. "You'll both be fine in a minute. Don't try to speak. Just concentrate on breathing in and stay calm." He shifted his holographic attention, returning to the captain, although he still managed to transfer the needed sterilization sequences to B'Elenna while he worked.

Carefully considering the patient's condition with methodical care, he floated the tricorder along her body —head to toes and half way up again, stopping to hoop around her mid-section twice. Scowling, the EMH looked directly into the phlegmatic face of Tuvok. Paris wondered what else could possibly be wrong. "Commander, the Doctor said, putting down his tricorder and placing one hand lightly atop Captain's belly. "I believe I have located the away team."

* * *

Squeeze, Part 3: Variation on a Well Known Theme, Copyright (c) kneipho 2004—2012

Part 4: Operation Inefficient

_1. Pet aQ -Klingon epitaph_


End file.
